


In the Pauses

by ChronoXtreme



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra Xaela Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Bending canon for comedy/angst/fluff purposes, Dark Knight Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers up to 5.4, Starlight Celebration (Final Fantasy XIV), Touch-Starved, Tragedy/Comedy, but mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28332717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronoXtreme/pseuds/ChronoXtreme
Summary: “I’m the Warrior of Light; disaster is always going to show up. I can’t control that. But I can find time in the pauses, widen the gaps, lengthen the moments we do have.”A series of one-shots and short stories featuring one Lord Speaker, one Warrior of Light, and their hijinks across Eorzea (but mainly in Ishgard)._____________________OverwhelmNo SpoilersThey say that pain is always greater than pleasure. Yet perhaps it is different for the Warrior of Light, where pain is a constant and pleasure is a rarity.CW: Some sexytimes (nothing explicit, but implied nudity)
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Starlight, Starbright

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was originally supposed to be a companion piece to my huge Wolmeric fic _Charcoal and Snow,_ which I have not yet finished nor posted, but since it's Starlight I really wanted to put this oneshot out there, so here we are. Apologies to all of y'all. 
> 
> Not really much you need to know about my WoL except she's named Shai'yra and is missing many, many brain cells due to having amnesia and not remembering anything about herself nor her life before the start of 2.0. She tries her best. I hope you enjoy and get those warm Starlight fuzzies in!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor Spoilers for 5.4
> 
> When Shai'yra realizes that Aymeric won't have the chance to celebrate the holiday season, she and Lucia stage an intervention (AKA I accidentally wrote a Starlight Hallmark movie).

_ My dearest Shai’yra, _

_ It is both an honor and a pleasure to see an Ishgardian tradition bring joy to children all over the realm thanks to the tireless efforts of you and your colleagues. On behalf of my entire nation, I offer you my gratitude — and on my personal behalf, my love. You truly are a bringer of miracles, Shai. _

_ While nothing would make me happier than to join you in all the festivities this season, I regret to say that these remain difficult times here in the Holy See. There is much that requires my attention here, leaving me with — most unfortunately — little time for levity.  _

_ Still, I must give thanks that I am able to celebrate the occasion with a restful night in your company at House Borel. Be well, my darling, and I look forward to the day when we might feast together in these halls once more. _

The letter was sweet, really. Shai always treasured Aymeric’s letters, even the ones that were so hastily scribbled between appointments that she could hardly read them (and considering that Ishgardian spellings were the stupidest thing this side of Eorzea, it was hard enough to read them as is).

Still, as she looked up at the sky, she couldn’t help but feel sad. Starlight was one of his most cherished holidays ever since he was a boy, and she remembered him reminiscing fondly about how his  _ maman  _ and  _ papa _ would take him to see the trees trimmed with lights, and then attend the choir concert later on in the evenings after the special Halonic service. Starlight, in a way, was  _ his _ festival. 

And because of those damned towers popping up all over, he would spend it stuck in his office. 

It honestly wasn’t fair. Aymeric was the person who most deserved a holiday, but he’d insist that it was meant for the children, and keeping Ishgard safe was the top priority. No moonlight promenades, no choir concerts, no shimmering lights for him. 

So, tucking his letter back into the light blue envelope, she planted her hands on her hips and began to plan.  _ Lights, choir concert, food, bell. That’s what’s most important.  _ You couldn’t have Starlight without those. Brow furrowing, she dug for her linkshell, then tapped it twice, listening as it chimed.

“First Commander Lucia speaking,” a terse voice replied. 

Poor Lucia. No doubt she was stressed out of her mind too, considering everything that was going on lately.

“Hey, Lucia,” Shai said. “I need your help with something — is now a good time?”

“Ah, Warrior,” she answered warmly. “Forgive me for my brusqueness just now. I fear that with present matters, the Temple Knights are stretched rather thin. ‘Tis a pity this all had to happen so close to Starlight…”

“Yeah, about that,” Shai said, smiling. “That’s what I need your help with. Do you mind helping me set up a few things?” She could do most of the leg and prep work, but if she had a helper, even better.

If she couldn’t bring Aymeric to the Starlight Festival, then she would just have to bring Starlight to him.

* * *

To say that being stuck inside his office during his favorite festival of the year was a disappointment would be a massive understatement for the lord speaker of Ishgard.

Aymeric had  _ plans _ this winter. With Shai’yra’s return from the First, it would be her first Starlight back in Eorzea — never mind that she hadn’t truly been gone for that long — and thus a momentous occasion worthy of the grandest of celebrations. He would take her to see everything: the lights, the choir concerts, the bell ringing, mass,  _ all  _ of it. No traditional treat would be left uneaten; even now, scratching out another missive to Lord Drillemont to keep his men at the ready, he smiled at the thought of Shai’s cheeks stuffed with peppercookies. He’d also purchased one of the finest hams at the Jeweled Crozier, and together with his maman’s traditional blueberry reduction and a veritable mountain of side dishes, they would feast like kings. 

Though Shai had insisted that she didn’t need a present, he had bought her one — a small engraved dagger, sheathed in gilded Borel blue, carefully wrapped and stowed in his desk. She had talked about getting herself something small for when they had to attend galas and parties; while he prayed the day she would feel safe enough at his side to attend such functions unarmed would come soon, he knew that past experience had taught her to look for danger in every corner — and such caution was wholly warranted in their joint experience.

But now it was all ruined. The ham was still in the icebox, untouched along with the blueberries. The choir concert had already wrapped up for the evening, and would end every evening before he could leave the Congregation. And while he could hear the bells ring even from here, it was not the same as seeing them in person. Even the lights lost their splendor when he was too tired to appreciate their beauty, shambling home from his office in a weary stupor. 

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes as he looked down at this latest stack of paperwork. It seemed silly to be so upset about Starlight when Eorzea was in danger once more. With troubling reports from the Empire, the strange tower that had appeared in the Dravanian Forelands, and the general climate of fear that rested in Ishgard, a festival was very low on the list of priorities.

But damn it, was it too much to ask the Fury to bless him with one holiday,  _ one, _ that he could spend at his wife’s side without a care in the world?

At least Shai was participating in the truest way she could — bringing joy to the children. It had grieved him to hear that in Gridania, the festival had almost been cancelled. Yet Shai had arrived to help, and he could think of no better patron, save perhaps the Saint of Nymeia, to give others the cheer they so desperately needed.

If only _ he _ could have a little bit of that cheer, was the bitter thought he tried to push away. 

Candles flickered as he worked, and he stifled a yawn as he stretched his back.  _ Just a… few more… _

A series of light taps suddenly came at his door. 

_ Halone, if you bear any love for me,  _ please _ do not let that be Count Dzemael. _

Hastily running a hand through his hair and straightening his surcoat, he cleared his throat. “Who goes there?”

“The Spirit of the Saint of Nymeia!” a squeaky voice replied.

_ …What? _

His bones creaking as he rose from his chair, Aymeric stared at the door in pure disbelief. “Er… Who?” he asked.

“Should I just go in?” the voice asked in a hushed whisper; he bit back a laugh as he realized exactly  _ who _ was speaking. Crossing from his desk to the door, he unlatched it and pulled it open.

Only to look not upon the Warrior of Light, but a… snowman?

Small flakes fell from its body onto the floor as he stared at the sculpture in surprise — and at  _ Lucia, _ who appeared to be fighting back laughter as she stood behind the snowy guest. “Good evening, Lord Commander,” she greeted, her cheeks bright pink with mirth. “You have a visitor.” 

“I can see that,” he replied, rather bemused. “Er… Hello?”

“Greetings, Lord Speaker!” the snowman squeaked; he shook from the strain of holding back his laughter as that oh-so familiar voice cracked, stick arms and mittens wiggling. “We’ve come to bring you the festive cheer of Starlight!” 

Despite how comical the situation was, his heart melted in his chest. “Oh?” He smiled. “And from whom do I have the pleasure of receiving this festive cheer?”

His eyes widened as the entire upper half of the snowman  _ popped off, _ revealing a face with bright crimson eyes and two arms holding aloft the now disconnected head. “Happy Starlight, Aym!” Shai’yra said, her voice normal once more as she beamed up at him. “Surprise!”

He did not know whether to laugh or cry — the sight of his wife crammed  _ inside a snowman, _ of all things, was high on the list of things he had never expected. But for her to surprise him for Starlight even with him confined to his office… It appeared that his eyes made the decision for him, stinging as he looked down at Shai’s brilliant countenance.

“Uh, Aym?” she said, her grin faltering as she looked at him. “Are you okay? This isn’t a bad time, is it?” 

“Fury, no,” he breathed, blinking quickly to dispel the tears. “This… This is a perfect time.” 

“Oh, good,” she sighed, and he laughed as she dropped the snowman’s head onto the floor — to his surprise, it did not explode in a shower of powder, but rolled off to the side. “It’s  _ hot _ inside this thing.” 

“How in the world did you even manage to fit inside?” he asked, taking her hands to assist her out of the snowman’s body. 

“‘Twas my question as well, Lord Commander,” Lucia said with a smile. “Apparently our Warrior is not just a renowned fighter, but a contortionist as well.”

“It’s not too bad at first,” Shai said, waving her hand as she straightened up — Aymeric couldn’t help but smile as he saw she wore a scarlet fur-trimmed tunic, the traditional garb of the holiday. “Stay in there for too long though and you’ll start to melt instead of the snow. But enough about that — this way!”

He laughed as she took his hand in both of hers, tugging him away from his office as if he were a child. “Shai, darling, I have paperwo—”

“That can wait! They’re all waiting for you — Handeloup!” He gaped as his second commander obediently opened the door of the Congregation, gesturing for him to step outside. 

Gathered at the steps in Saint Valeroyant’s Forum was a small group of red coated Elezen, each bearing a music folder. “The Chantry Choir, Lord Speaker,” Handeloup introduced. Aymeric’s jaw dropped near to the ice itself — the Chantry Choir was one of the finest singing troupes in all of Ishgard, performing in the Vault for special services. Due to their high demand, it was nearly impossible to attend one of their concerts, much less so late in the evening. People would wait in line outside the Vault for hours just to hear them from the atrium, much less the chantry itself. Now here they were, practically at his doorstep.

_ How in Hydaelyn did she manage this? _ Shai’yra was a worker of miracles, but  _ this… _

Then they began to sing, and all questions departed from his mind — it was as if he was a small boy again, Maman holding his hand as he listened to the ancient carols ring in the square. Every child knew the songs by heart, singing of the beauties of the falling snow, of the lights that shone from the sky, better than any that could adorn any tree. Yet this was far better than any concert he had attended — he could hear every note, every melody in perfect harmony as the choir performed in the empty square. 

When they finished, Aymeric could scarcely speak, his heart fit to burst from his breast. “Thank you, all of you,” he whispered, all but falling into a bow. “Truly, your voices have been blessed by the Fury Herself.”

“When the Warrior of Light told us that the lord speaker of Ishgard himself would be unable to attend the concerts, we all agreed that something must be done,” one of the singers said, her voice warm. “We thank you, Ser Aymeric, for all that you have done for our nation — and for all that you continue to do.”

“These are troubling times indeed,” an elder gentleman noted somberly. “But we have faith that the Fury will see us through in your hands.”

To think that not so long ago, he had wondered if Ishgard would ever truly be unified. Since the death of his father, he had questioned his ability to lead not just soldiers but men, to govern as well as command. To hear those words…

“I am honored beyond my ability to repay,” he breathed. “A thousand thanks to each of you, truly. If there is a fee you require—”

“No, no, Lord Speaker!” a younger lass said, shaking her head. “We’re glad to perform for free! ‘Tis the spirit of Starlight, after all!”

Yes, it was. And Shai had conjured it all up for him, seemingly by sheer determination alone. He turned to smile down at her — then frowned when he saw that she was not at his side, as he’d expected. The choir dismissed themselves with cheery waves and bows of their own, and he blinked as he turned back to the Congregation. 

Only to stare at the twinkling lights glimmering around the doorway.

Stars of all sorts of colors — though he noted that most were indigo — hovered in the air, casting festive colors on the stones as he slowly crept back inside. “Handeloup?” he asked hesitantly. “What…?”

“The choir is only the beginning of the evening, Lord Speaker,” Handeloup said with a smile. “The Warrior of Light and the First Commander have worked hard so that you might enjoy Starlight as best you can. I pray you enjoy your evening, sir.” Aymeric could barely thank the man as he left, staring at the now empty main hall.

“Lucia, could you put that there? There we go, now it’ll all fit.” Shai’s voice traveled from the slightly ajar door to his office — which now had a glowing path leading to it, more magicked prisms twinkling. He smiled as he saw the patterns shimmering in the air: the Temple Knights, the four high houses, and Ishgard’s coat of arms merrily glowing in two parallel lines. It looked almost like a wonderland, like he’d woken in a fairy tale. 

The aroma wafting from his office was certainly magical.

Creeping down the constructed path, he cleared his throat before he touched the doorhandle. “Might I enter?”

“Wait just two ticks — uh, where do important letters go, Lucia?”

“Right bottom drawer. I will take these.” 

A few more moments of shuffling later, Shai called “Come in!” Grinning like a schoolboy, Aymeric gently eased the door open — then stared agape for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. 

The candles and lamps he’d lit bells earlier had been extinguished, the entire room illuminated by yet more magicked prisms; either Shai had purchased an entire store’s worth or she had been saving them all for whatever reason. She and Lucia stood proudly behind his desk, which was now utterly devoid of paper and filled instead with food. Mashed popotoes and gravy, dinner rolls and butter, several fruits which Aymeric knew for certain were  _ not _ available in Ishgard, and to his utter shock and delight, a roasted ham glazed with blueberry reduction sauce.

That was it. This was all a dream, and he would soon awake with his face planted in some drool-soaked document. He could not speak as he looked at Shai and Lucia in turn, throat thick.

“Happy Starlight, Lord Commander,” Lucia said with a warm smile. “Now, I suggest you eat before it gets cold.” 

“Here, I’ll dish you up a plate — you too, Lucia, don’t even think about running off.” Shoving up her sleeves, Shai carefully sliced the ham, arranging the pieces on several plates; Aymeric’s mouth watered at the smell. “I hope I got it right,” she said furtively, handing him the first plate. “It’s your maman’s recipe, right?”

“Aye. Every Starlight she would make this,” he said with a smile, taking a long whiff of the food. “Fury, Shai, this looks  _ wonderful.” _

“Best I could do on short notice,” she said, handing Lucia her plate. The first commander took it appreciatively.

“If this is short notice, then I cannot imagine what you would prepare with more time,” she noted. “I had no idea that you were a cook, Warrior.”

“Did I never tell you, Lucia?” Aymeric said, looking on fondly as Shai settled down in her chair with her own plate of food. “You are standing in the presence of the  _ only _ chef in Eorzea to win a perfect score in the Dellemont d'Or cooking competition.” 

Lucia’s eyes widened. “I… I had no idea. Forgive me, Shai’yra.”

“Oh, I don’t care. I won it out of spite more than anything else.”

Aymeric chuckled; it was well known in the Borel household that Shai loathed cooking vehemently despite her talent for it. Perhaps another hidden aspect of her past that would never be uncovered. “Shall we?” he asked, lifting his fork. 

Together, they began to eat, and the room was silent save for the scraping of utensils on plate — then his groan of delight as the first bit of ham sat on his tongue. Succulent and tender, the blueberry reduction gave it the perfect blend of both sweetness and tartness, an explosion of flavor. Though it was sweeter than he remembered, he devoured every bite, sighing in satisfaction as he ate.

“It’s good?” Shai asked hesitantly, her own plate clean — she could put temple knights to shame with how fast she could eat.

“Perfect,” he breathed, looking at her. “Though I confess, you could have served me stale bread and I would have fain devoured it just as quickly.”

They laughed, Lucia giving him a scolding look — then she was back to her plate, greedily sopping up what remained with the rolls. “Full well can I see how you won that competition, Warrior,” she said, smiling as she leaned back in her seat. “I fear I shall be unable to make the journey home.” 

“Just give it a few minutes. Besides,” and Aymeric’s eyes widened as Shai reached behind the desk, pulling out a large tin, “I brought peppercookies! And…” He grinned as she pulled out a dusty bottle. “Hope you don’t mind me stealing one of your wine bottles, Aym.” 

“They are  _ our _ bottles, my dear,” he reminded her with a smile. “What say you, First Commander? A drink to celebrate Starlight?”

“I could hardly refuse, Lord Speaker.” 

With a corkscrew Shai procured — by the Fury, just how many things had she snuck into his office? — they managed to uncork the wine and pour it into two cups, Shai’s own filled with water. “To Starlight,” Aymeric said softly, raising his glass.

“To Starlight,” Lucia murmured. 

They drank in contented silence, the wine perfect for washing down their feast and the cookies. Though it was a holiday, Aymeric abstained from drinking more than his single glass; if he was to spend any time with Shai, it would be sober.

“Say, Lucia,” Shai said softly. “They don’t have any winter celebrations in Garlemald, do they?” He blinked at the question; frankly, he had never considered the idea. 

“Not to this level, no. Officially, there are only two holidays — the new year and the founding of the Empire,” Lucia explained, nursing her cup. “But we often gathered and celebrated in winter to stave off the gloom; the climate is rather much like Ishgard, in fact. When the days grew short and the nights seemed endless, we would burn fires all through the night, singing and dancing and making merry. We would often save up to go to the theater and see the plays.” She smiled. “Those were the few happy times I remember of my childhood. But I must confess, I find Starlight to be a far grander celebration; the spirit of the season is wonderful.”

“Aye, that it is,” Aymeric murmured. 

After finishing her drink, Lucia rose from her chair. “I bid you both a wonderful evening, Warrior, Lord Speaker,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Thank you for the food and the company.” A lump rose in his throat as he watched her leave — Lucia had no family to spend the holiday with, though she had many friends. Yet she had spent the evening along with Shai helping him enjoy Starlight, despite both of their heavy workloads.  _ I shall have to find some way to repay her kindness, _ he mused as the door clicked closed.

A soft sigh turned his thoughts away from Lucia, and he smiled as he saw Shai sag in her chair, arms dangling to the side. “I’m stuffed,” she mumbled. “I don’t think I can move an ilm. You’ll have to roll me down the street.”

He laughed, rising from his chair. “Full glad would I be to carry you home,” he murmured, rounding the desk to kneel before her. Her cheeks glowed in the soft light of the prisms as he cupped her face in his hand. “For all the work that you’ve put into this, you should not have to take another step.” 

She smiled faintly, hand resting over his. Heart swelling in his breast, he could not resist planting a kiss on her lips, then pulling her into his arms. “Thank you, beloved,” he whispered into her hair, holding her tight against him.

“No problem,” she whispered back, small fingers buried in his surcoat. 

Settling down into her chair, holding her in his lap, he stared at his office in wonder, magicked prisms still twinkling like stars. “You did not have to do this simply for my sake,” he murmured, throat thick as he looked down at her, fingers stroking her hair. 

“What are you talking about? Of course I did.” Her small hand wrapped around his palm, a warm smile on her lips. “Starlight means something to you, Aym. Besides, no one should skip a holiday just because things are going badly — that’s the time when holidays are most important to have, even if they can’t be exactly the same.” 

That, he supposed, was true enough.

“I told myself that to simply spend a quiet evening together would be enough for me,” he said quietly. “But this…” He swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “I believe this is the best Starlight I have celebrated in years.” 

Shai’s eyes widened, ruby rings reflecting the myriad colors of the magicked prisms. “I…”

He smiled. “‘Tis not much, but I have something for you.” Leaning around her, he opened his top desk drawer, withdrawing the small box he’d painstakingly wrapped several nights ago. “Happy Starlight, beloved,” he murmured, pressing the box into her hands along with a kiss to her brow.

Shai’s eyes fixated upon the present as if it were solid gold, looking up at him with an incredulous stare. Then, to his shock, she wilted, white hair falling in her eyes as her face fell. “Damn it, I  _ knew _ I forgot something,” she whispered. “Oh Twelve, I’m so sorry, Aym, I got so caught up—”

“What in the world do you need to apologize for?” he asked, bewildered.

“I didn’t get you a present!” Her eyes were almost comically pained as she looked up at him. “That’s the whole  _ point _ of Starlight, Aym — and I ruined it!”

Aymeric stared at her for a long, long moment, stunned beyond belief.

Then, he couldn’t help but laugh — not just a chuckle but a  _ full _ laugh, one that shook him from head to foot and made him squeeze his eyes shut to hold back his tears. He was positive he looked an utter fool, laughing like this, but he couldn’t help it.

Finally able to breathe properly again, he opened his eyes to see Shai staring at him as if he’d gone mad. Smiling, he lifted her chin with a finger. “Love,” he whispered warmly, his heart swelling in his breast as he looked down at her. “You have given me quite possibly the finest Starlight present I’ve ever received.” 

She blinked. “What…?”

How could she not see? How could she not understand?

“Shai,” he said softly. “You have contacted the most elite choir in all of Ishgard to serenade me, prepared a feast — when you _ loathe _ cooking, I might add — and given me a lightshow that could quite honestly send a few competitors out of business. And you have done this all when Eorzea needs you, when the burdens you carry are heavy indeed.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, thumb running over scales and skin. “My dearest, most darling Shai’yra — you did not just give me a gift. You have given me Starlight itself. I can think of no present wrapped in a box that could possibly be more precious.”

Her lips parted, cheeks pink even in the light of the prisms.

Then she let out a soft laugh of her own, head pressing to his chest in a gentle  _ thunk. _ “Well, when you put it that way, then yeah.” She sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out — I just know that Starlight’s so important to you, and I… I wanted it to be perfect.”

“It _ is  _ perfect,” he reassured her, kissing the crown of her head. “I fear that mine own gift will pale in comparison to yours.”

She smiled up at him. “Hey, you  _ got _ me something. I’m already impressed.” Leaning against him, she carefully undid the ribbon that held the wrapping paper together, unfolding it delicately as if it were a puzzle — he smiled fondly as he thought of his own childhood, shredding apart paper without a care in the world as he eagerly sought his gift inside. 

When Shai exposed the wooden box and opened it, she paused. “Aym,” she whispered, staring at the dagger inside. “You…?”

He froze. Oh Halone, did she not like it? A dagger was far from the most romantic gift one could receive on Starlight — or had she purchased one of her own already?

“I can’t believe you remembered,” she breathed, looking up at him with one of the largest grins he’d ever seen. “And that you actually  _ got  _ me one!”

“Then it pleases you?” he asked, hesitantly returning her own smile.

“It’s beautiful — thank you!” The tips of his ears burned when she kissed his cheek, pulling the dagger out of the box. “So pretty,” she whispered, turning it over in her hands. The blade itself was a simple design, meant to serve as a weapon as well as ornamentation, but he had asked the smith to inlay it with gold — nothing too ornate, but something that would make it stand out from another lesser knife. “How much did you spend on this?”

“An unimportant detail, love,” he said, coughing. She laughed, shaking her head, then blinked as she inspected the blade more closely.

“There’s writing on it,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “But I can’t read it.”

“‘Tis ancient Ishgardian,” he explained with a smile. “In elder times when the Dragonsong War raged fiercely, prayers to Halone for protection would be inscribed upon a knight’s weapon. As times changed, the custom remained along with the script, though few can read it today.” 

“I see,” she murmured. “So what does it say?”

A lump rose in his throat as he looked at the gilded letters. “‘Where I cannot go, walk with her,’” he said softly.

It was a prayer he repeated every night before he laid his head on the pillow. As the Warrior of Light, Shai was needed anywhere and everywhere — and she often journeyed alone. Even if he was free from his duties as lord speaker of Ishgard, there were paths that he could not take at her side. Such was the burden she carried, and such was the longing in his breast that he could not fulfill.

It felt silly, giving her a dagger when she could slay gods themselves. No, he could never hope to protect her from the dangers she faced each day; he had resigned himself to that long ago. But that didn’t stop the yearning to go with her. To be at her side, if not as a protector, then as a support. Someone to rely upon, to fall back to when pains and wounds and the weight of duty could not be borne alone. 

He couldn’t even do that half the time. That was why he’d commissioned the dagger — not just so she could be armed at dinner parties and stuffy balls, but so that a piece of him could, in some small way, keep her safe.

Holding the dagger to her chest, she smiled up at him, eyes reflecting the glow of the prisms far better than they had before. “Thank you,” she murmured once more, lying against his chest. 

“You are very welcome.” Resting his chin on her head, he sighed as he closed his eyes, letting himself simply rest. The warmth of Shai against him, the scent of pepper cookies, the sound of the chronometer ticking on the wall: it was so peaceful that he wished the moment would simply last forever. No Ascians, no Garleans, no new threat to disturb them. 

It appeared that Shai had other ideas, however. Hopping off his lap, she tucked the dagger into her belt — he smiled at the gesture — then began rearranging his desk, gathering dishes and plates. When he tried to assist her, she shooed him away. “Don’t lift a finger,” she said warmly. “Lucia told me how hard you’ve been working.” 

None of his paperwork could begin to compare to the duties of the Warrior of Light, but he did as commanded, leaning back in his chair. “How in the world did you bring all of this down here?” he asked. 

“Warrior of Light secret,” she replied simply with a twinkling eye; he laughed, shaking his head. Once the dishes had been stacked, he watched as she opened the door to the now empty Congregation. His eyebrow rose as she pulled in a small cart, loading the dishes inside. She must have hidden it off to the side before knocking on his door and bringing him out for the choir concert. 

“And now for the last stop of the evening,” she said, reaching for his hand; he took it gladly, feeling her small fingers intertwine with his as he rose from his chair. 

“What else could you possibly have in store for me?” he mused, following her back out into the cold night air. Saint Valeroyant’s Forum was quiet, ice shimmering in the light of the stars as they walked. 

“I’ll let you guess that. We should be able to make it up to the Pillars in time,” she said, tugging the small cart behind her. He blinked; what could reside in the Pillars that was related to Starlight? 

Despite their supposed schedule, Shai walked slowly, leaning against him more out of weariness than for warmth. Smiling, he tucked her beneath his arm, wrapping some of his surcoat around her. As she had told him when she had first come to Ishgard, Au Ra and the cold did not mix well. Breath misting in front of their faces, they strolled in easy, comfortable silence.

Then, as they approached the Last Vigil, he heard it: the low, humming peal of bells. 

He’d heard them before, both as a young boy and as a grown man walking home late at night. But standing here, it felt different. The bells had rung in the past to signal a homecoming for orphans, a time to shelter from the snow and the cold. Listening to them now, Shai at his side in the snow, he blinked back tears.

_ This is home. _

“Happy Starlight, Aym,” Shai murmured, fingers squeezing his hand. 

Swallowing thickly, he brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing those chilled fingers. “Happy Starlight, beloved,” he whispered, smiling down at her.

It was the oddest — and the best — Starlight Celebration he’d had in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric just wants to be the off tank to Shai's main tank, you know? (Hey SE, please let Aymeric join the trust system, mmmkay?)
> 
> The idea for this fic came while completing the Starlight event for this year and getting that sweet letter from our boy. I really loved the idea of WoL going "Someone needs Starlight cheer!" and basically throwing him a party in his office (and giving Lucia some love too, she needs it), so I gathered the courage to post this short story. Hope you like it! 
> 
> This year has been weird for all sorts of reasons, so holiday cheer is sorely needed, both in Eorzea and out of it. No matter what and how you celebrate, I wish you good times and a pleasant day/evening. :)


	2. A Beauty Reborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While appearances are only skin deep, Shai'yra wonders if it's time for a change of hairstyle — and if Aymeric would like such a gesture.

Holding the razor in her hand, Shai stared at herself carefully in the mirror.

She considered herself someone that had a decent assortment talents — she could cook, wield a greatsword one-handed, and according to Aymeric she was the best storyteller he’d ever heard. Hair styling, however, was not one of those talents. 

Oh, she wasn’t  _ awful _ at it, though Tataru would probably cry if she saw her now. The first few haircuts she’d given herself had been pretty bad, but she’d slowly gotten the hang of it — sort of. Get the hair wet, wash it good, then start in the back and work to the front. If it turned out bad, then she could hide in her helmet for a few sennights until it evened out. 

So, taking a deep breath, she took the blade between thumb and forefinger and started working. 

“Love, if you require a trip to the aesthetician, you could have simply told me.”

She jumped, though thankfully the razor didn’t knick skin. Looming above her in the mirror’s reflection was Aymeric, a smile on his lips as he slipped into the small washroom she’d hid herself in. “Forgive me,” he murmured, resting his hands on her shoulders; the weight was calming, filling her with warmth. “I did not mean to startle you.” 

She smiled, patting his hand in forgiveness. “Least I didn’t cut myself.” 

His lips pulled down into a frown. “Do you do this… often?”

“Cut my own hair? Yes.” Carefully she folded the razor back into its handle, looking at her reflection. Her hair tickled the nape of her neck, hanging past her chin in the front. This was when she usually cut it so it wouldn’t get in the way, otherwise she’d have to use hair ribbons and pins to slick it back in battle. 

Yet, as Aymeric looked down at her, another thought came to mind — that of the Elezen ladies that strolled around the pillars, hair carefully coiffed in fancy updos hidden under veils and hats. Truth be told, it seemed silly to her. Why have all that hair just to tie it up and keep it out of sight? Yet… there was an elegance to the look. And the last thing anyone could think looking at her was “elegant.” 

It didn’t usually bother her. Her place was fighting and protecting, not politics and pleasantries — and Aymeric knew that. Twelve, he encouraged it; if there was ever a party that they were both invited to, he stuck to her side like glue the entire night to handle all the fancy talking and the negotiating. That was when they actually bothered to go at all. Some nights they faked sick, hiding in Borel Manor’s parlor with a bottle of wine between them as they relaxed on his soft sofa. 

But parties or no parties, she was still the wife of the lord speaker of Ishgard, even if she wasn’t around half the time. That had an image, she knew. She already didn’t fit it just by being Xaela. If it would make things easier for Aymeric — Twelve, if he  _ liked  _ it… 

Taking a lock between her thumb and forefinger, she swallowed. “Do you… Would you like it if I grew it out?” she asked hesitantly, looking up at him. It would take a long time, but she could tie it back or something. Tataru could even teach her how to braid it — though the last thing she wanted was Alphinaud and Alisaie’s rat tails hanging off the back of her head.

Aymeric’s lips pursed. “You mean, grow out your hair?”

“Mm.” She paused, then confessed, “It used to be long, actually. When I first came to Eorzea — well, when I first remember, anyway.” 

He blinked. “Truly?”

She smiled, nodding. 

“I can scarcely imagine it, to be honest,” he confessed; her cheeks warmed as his fingers combed through her hair, curling in the short strands. “How long?”

“Down to here.” She motioned to her ribs, holding back a laugh as Aymeric’s eyes widened. “I know, I know. It was an absolute pain to handle — I’d stuff it in my helmet and when I took it off it would all fall out and stick out everywhere.” Personal grooming had been low on her list of priorities back then, and she'd never learned the proper way to take care of her hair. According to Tataru and Emmanellain, she still hadn't quite managed it.

Aymeric chuckled at the image, fingers still combing through her unruly strands. “Hence the haircut.”

“Mmhm.” Looking at her reflection, she laid her hands in her lap. “And, well… Long hair didn’t really fit me anymore. I hung onto it for a long time because that was one more thing from my past that I still had.” Her shoulders tightened. “But I guess I realized one day that holding onto it wasn’t going to help me remember anything. So I cut it all off. And it looked terrible, but at least it wouldn’t fall into my face in the middle of a fight.” She looked up at him, a corner of her lips quirking up. “Still have awful helmet hair though.”

Aymeric’s eyes glittered, his smile warm as he looked down at her. “And you have kept it this way ever since.”

“Mmhm.” She looked at herself in the mirror, a lump rising in her throat. “But if you want, I can change it up. Grow it longer.” She could even dye it — white was the blandest color, after all.

“Do  _ you _ wish to?” he asked softly. 

She blinked. “I mean, I’m fine with keeping it the way it is, but if…” 

“Then pray, keep it.” Metal clinked against stone as he knelt beside her chair, blue eyes soft as he looked at her. “I would not have you change a thing about yourself, Shai, and certainly not to please only me.”

“I know, but…” She blushed a little as she remembered Tataru and Y’shtola’s words spoken over tea several weeks back. “Don’t men like women with long hair?”

Aymeric looked at her for a long moment, and she realized that he was examining her, as carefully as one of his legal documents in his office. “Mayhap in general, yes,” he murmured, his hand traveling down from her hair to her neck; she bit back a shiver as his thumb ran along her jaw. “But short hair suits you. This is something you have made for yourself — ‘tis a part of you now, a part that I cherish.” His lips quirked up. “And if longer hair is a hindrance in battle, I would much prefer you with shorter hair than a shorter lifespan.”

She snorted — but she couldn’t help but smile at him, corny jokes aside. 

“The choice will always be yours, beloved,” he said, rising from his knee. “Pick what you desire for yourself.”

That was always his creed, his mantra when it came to her: pick for herself. Pick what she wanted, not what the world wanted or needed. It was something she still struggled with, even after Fray, even after Aymeric had first asked her those words over candlelight.

Staring at herself in the mirror, fingers brushing the frayed ends of her hair, she came to a decision.

“Maybe a little bit different,” she finally concluded. “But still short.”

Aymeric’s reflection smiled above her. “Then I can have the aesthetician come in tomorrow.”

She smiled. “Sounds good. But you’re really sure that you like it shorter?”

“Of course. As I said, it suits you, Shai.” His lips quirked up, eyes glinting mischievously as he looked down at her. “And if your hair were longer, I could not do this.”

Before she could ask, her jaw went slack as warm lips pressed against the nape of her neck, scales and skin alike burning beneath the touch. “A-Aym,” she whispered, her face burning so fiercely her horns felt like they would melt off.

Yet when she turned around, he was gone, blue surcoat swishing around the door. “Aymeric de Borel, get back here!” she shouted, the chair falling to the side as she rounded the door frame after him. His laughter echoed down the hall, and somehow her cheeks only got redder as she realized  _ where _ he was going. “I know where you sleep!” she threatened, a grin on her lips.

“Good!” 

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but laugh as she followed that elusive slip of blue surcoat to their bedchambers.

If that was what she got for having short hair, then she would definitely keep it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amongst the various (goofy) headcanons I have for Aymeric, two of them are that a. he has a really corny sense of humor and makes awful jokes and b. he's a bit of a tease with his significant other. When those two combine, it is lethal. 
> 
> This chapter came about while looking at other hairstyles at the aesthetician because I wanted a change of pace... then I changed it right back to the one I've had for months lol. In case you're wondering, Shai's old hairstyle (which I used to have for her) was the long haircut with the white headband - I ended up changing it shortly before the climax of ARR and kept it the same ever since. Short hair really does suit her. :)


	3. Overwhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that pain is always greater than pleasure. Yet perhaps it is different for the Warrior of Light, where pain is a constant and pleasure is a rarity.
> 
> CW: Some sexytimes (nothing explicit, but implied nudity)

Pain was something Shai had gotten used to. She’d had to, as a dark knight. Pain was how one accessed the Abyss, how one grew strong. As she’d accumulated more scars, gotten more dents in her armor, the pain had grown less intense for her. Never quite numb, but enough that she was never jarred by it anymore. If an arrow managed to sink into her flesh, it took a few moments for it to register. The cut of a knife’s blade was a short sting followed by a dull throb. At times, she feared that she was starting to lose all sensation entirely.

But pleasure was different.

Mayhap it was due to the rarity — with no memory of any affection and her life starting in the rough and tumble of Ul’dah, her experience with loving touches was… well, nonexistent. Tataru had squeezed her hands a few times, and Minfilia had patted her shoulder in camaraderie, but those were brief touches, and all the more foreign for it.

The first time she’d been hugged in her all-too-short memory was after she’d defeated Shiva, Ysayle’s words still ringing in her ears. Hiking back to Camp Dragonhead in the middle of a ferocious blizzard, she’d stumbled into the closest building she could find, melting snow dripping in her eyes. Then before she could react, Haurchefant had snatched her up off the floor, hugging her so tightly that her spine cracked.

There had been pain there — but something warm too, something that she couldn’t begin to describe. A… An ache. A longing for something she had never really experienced.

After that, it was like a floodgate had opened.

Every soft brush of someone’s hand against hers. Every caress of breath against her hair. Every squeeze of her shoulder, every reassuring pat, every touch that wasn’t someone or something trying to kill her — she craved each and every one of them. And each one felt like levin on her skin, so unused to contact without pain, without violence. 

She didn’t realize that wasn’t normal until Aymeric had held her for the first time in Borel Manor, feelings fresh and fragile and finally expressed. When he’d tucked her against his chest, long fingers stroking her hair, she’d wept — not from pain, because nothing he could do to her would ever truly hurt. 

She cried because of all the sensations.

Fingertips against her scalp. A palm running up her spine. Warm breath against her hair. The beating of his heart, thrumming through her entire being like a steady drum. The very texture of his skin made her tremble, soft and warm and comfort incarnate. All pieces of the same puzzle, coming together to wrap her in pure comfort and affection and  _ love. _

Aymeric had been baffled by her reaction, even scared — hugs shouldn’t make a person cry. But when she had explained that she had no memory of being held, he had pulled her close immediately, wrapping himself around her as if he were a living blanket.

And without telling him, without ever explaining that she craved these touches she had never experienced, Aymeric understood the ache she felt — and he indulged her. His hands engulfed hers. His fingertips caressed her face, tracing where skin and scales met. His arms held her close, pulling her off the ground and to his chest. His lips pressed to her hair, then her eyes, then her nose, then finally her lips. Though they had to be separate, formal in public, in private he always drew her close, always lavished a thousand touches on her. When it was possible, they were always connected, some part of them always held.

She sensed that he, too, was a stranger to physical affection. An archbishop’s bastard, a man with many enemies and very few friends, had little chance to find comfort in that way. She was happy to return the favor in what clumsy ways she could.

Yet it wasn’t until their wedding night that she realized just how different she was from him.

Without clothes, without formality separating them, his touches weren’t just comforting — they were  _ overwhelming. _

Each brush of his fingertips on her skin, no matter where, made her tremble. Each kiss he left on her made her gasp. Even just his hot breath against her hair, her horn, sent her into freefall, tears welling in her eyes.

He’d been so afraid that he was hurting her. But that was because he hadn’t understood — pain would never make her feel this way. Pain made her numb.

But pleasure made her  _ melt. _

And right now, she was a puddle in their bed.

“So sensitive for me,” he whispered against her horn, lips moving against the chitin; the vibration made her quiver, an aching whimper escaping her lips. Cheeks hot, she looked up at him with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she whispered back, her voice hoarse. Already her throat had gone dry, her heart racing in her chest. Another thing that made her not-normal, that set her apart — most women wouldn’t be writhing in the sheets from just a few kisses and caresses. 

Yet Aymeric smiled, eyes soft — even at his most passionate, most fierce, love suffused all of him, touches and all. “Never apologize for that,” he murmured, and she whimpered again at the feeling of his lips rubbing against her horns. “Do you know how beautiful you look like this?”

Once, she wouldn’t have believed him. Beauty was his trait, not hers. An adventurer turned Warrior of Light, covered in scars and wounds, barely functioning, could hardly be considered beautiful by anyone, much less him. But looking up at him now, his eyes fixed on her as if she were a feast, she could start believing. 

“Every sound you make,” he breathed — and her own breath came heavy as his palm glided up her thigh — “is music to me.” She shivered as he kissed her once more, cradling the back of her head in his hand. “You need never be ashamed, Shai. I adore every part of you.” His lips parted in a grin as his hand slid  _ up, _ tearing a choked moan from her throat. “But  _ this… _ The Fury could not have blessed me with a finer gift.” 

Blinking back tears, she laughed, her own hands cupping his cheeks. “Isn’t it my gift?” she panted, threading her fingers in his hair.

“Mayhap our gift,” he conceded, lips drifting down to her neck; each touch sent another hot jolt down her spine, the ache between her legs growing ever stronger. Fingers curling in his hair, she trembled, gasping for breath as his teeth scraped her skin. Thumb rubbing circles on her hip, his lips hot against her breast, it was so much, almost too much.

Too much, and yet never enough.

“A-Aym,” she choked out. “I-I…”  _ I need more. _

With every touch he gave her, her craving grew deeper. It seemed, unlike pain, pleasure did not fade for her with time. 

When her voice died out in a whimper, he pulled away from her, blue eyes dark with desire. “Tell me, my darling,” he breathed, voice rough and full of want — it was enough for her legs to snap closed, her whole body quivering. “What do you desire?”

_ What do you want for yourself? _

Ever since their too-short dinner, that question had become a ritual, a sacred rite. In his arms, surrounded in his warmth and love, she could ask for anything and not be denied. There were three answers she always gave him.

The first was for him to take the reins — for her to react instead of act, for him to lead and she to follow. That was the most common answer she gave him, and one that he had grown used to with time. He was not her commander nor her master — he was her protector, her guardian. The Warrior of Light protected everyone; Aymeric protected Shai. There was no safer place to be than in his arms.

The second answer was for her to forget. When the pains of her duty were too fresh, when the ache of loss could not be soothed away, he could distract her for a moment — allow some fleeting measure of joy to ground her before she slipped away entirely. Lost in the haze of his touch, she could simply  _ be. _

The third answer, though simple, was mayhap the most powerful.

_ “Touch me,” _ she pleaded, curling her fingers in his hair. 

And when he smiled, crushing her to him in a deep kiss that set every ilm of her on fire, she let herself drown in the overwhelming pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself I'd keep this mostly wholesome and here we are. :) I know not much actually happens here, but I figured I'd bump the rating up just to be safe. 
> 
> One of the things I like to explore with Shai is the less talked about side effects of amnesia. There's always plenty of angst to be derived from the subject, but something I realized when playing through the game is that no one ever really touches the WoL. I know it's due to graphical restraints (and the pain of rigging a generic model to interact that way), but honestly it hit me at just how sad that was... especially with Shai, who has no memory outside of being an adventurer/WoL. Hence the sensitivity to touch. When your whole life is serving and slaying, the nice touches tend to make a greater impression.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you'd like, leave a comment down below -- it's better than getting commends!
> 
> And if you're somewhat interested in what Shai looks like, [here](https://twitter.com/XtremeChrono/status/1336132866741207041) is crappy fanart I did of these two goofs.


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